


i've done wrong (wanna suffer for my sins)

by whatiwouldnotgive



Category: 28 Days (2000)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Explicit Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, yes i'm simping for viggo mortensen please allow me my privacy during this difficult time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:48:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatiwouldnotgive/pseuds/whatiwouldnotgive
Summary: “Whoare you talking to?”And here he is, middle America, baseball playing, Eddie, sinking his searching fingers into the raw, open parts of her to bring to light things she’d rather keep hidden.  She thinks,how dare he, but also:he needs to be punished, no one’s ever told him no before.  She looks at him.  He looks back.  Both incredulous.  She realizes they’ve been having two different conversations.“I have no idea,” she says, chuckling.
Relationships: Gwen Cummings/Eddie Boone
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	i've done wrong (wanna suffer for my sins)

**Author's Note:**

> this one goes out to lee, simply because no one else is gonna read this u_u viggo simping hours always. and my hugest thanks to propioception, who continues to beta read my shit no matter how niche. also i don't _really_ think this needs to be said, but don't fuck your fellow rehab patients. 
> 
> title from criminal by fiona apple :)
> 
> disclaimer: i do not own 28 Days, all rights belong to respective owners.

“ _Who_ are you talking to?”

There’s something about him—from that Kentucky fried drawl to the boyishly mussed hair—that itches beneath Gwen’s skin. His presence rankles, like when she would sit in church and run her fingers against the grain of her grandma’s velvet dress. It makes her want to slap him. Or grab his hair and yank. Anything to see that infuriating earnest face crumple. 

The desire hits her so strongly it scares her a little bit. She hasn’t played around in _that_ particular headspace in a while, since Jasper, at least. Since the switch to drugs that mellow her, valium over speed. While Jasper got his thrills from the drugs, he never was that adventurous in bed, and Gwen was fine with that. Really, she was. Chalking it up to experimenting in her 20s, she’d packed that part of herself away and sank into the comfort of the high of pills and booze. 

And here _he_ is, middle America, baseball playing, Eddie, sinking his searching fingers into the raw, open parts of her to bring to light things she’d rather keep hidden. She thinks, _how dare he_ , but also: _he needs to be punished, no one’s ever told him no before_. 

She looks at him. He looks back. Both incredulous. She realizes that while she’s been dissecting her thoughts and navigating emotions she hasn’t experienced in years, she lost the thread of their earlier conversation. Something to do with balls—baseballs—and philosophy, she thinks. God, is this what trying having a discussion with her when she was high was like?

“I have no idea,” she says, chuckling. He laughs too, with that disarming, toothy smile. The one that makes the lines by his eyes crinkle up. Between the withdrawal symptoms and the first nervous flutterings of arousal in her belly, Gwen’s uninjured leg starts bouncing. She plucks at a loose string on her ratty pajama pants. 

Raising an eyebrow, he says, “I bet you can’t sit still and be quiet for even one minute.”

The flutter bats its wings, and it looks a lot like dark eyelashes over blue-grey eyes. 

Huffing, she says, “I can.” 

He raises both eyebrows this time in a look that plainly says _Oh yeah?_ Rolling her eyes, she tosses away the boxes of his baseballs and slouches down on the sofa. Then crossing her arms and legs, says, “Is this what we’re doing now? A quiet contest?” She sighs, turning her attention to the TV. All the while, she can feel his eyes on her. A flush of heat washes over her, and she fights the urge to start picking at her cuticles. Then she hears the first notes of _Santa Cruz’s_ opening, and a grin splits across her face at this secret knowledge. _Eddie likes Santa Cruz_. 

He dives for the remote at the same time she does. She feels giddy, like she's 10 and an annoying little sister desperate for Lilly’s attention. He tussles with her for it, grabbing at arms while she shoves his chest down. 

She says, “These are not _game tapes_.” Then, more teasing, “I know what this is! I can’t believe you watch this.” He’s warm pressed against her, grappling and tugging on her shoulders. Embarrassment clouding his features and voice. Something in her gut _twists_ for the sight of it. Something she hasn’t felt in a long, long while. 

He grabs her bodily and pins her down, and then he’s so fucking close, looming over top. Burning a line against her body where they’re pressed to one another. And Gwen’s been in pain for days from the damn withdrawal, and she’s been lonely for too long. Alone in her mind and body. Despite sharing a physical space with Jasper, she’s been forced to confront that gnawing emptiness haunting the edges of her life in this place. This is something she wants, she decides. Something that won’t kill her. Something she can control. Letting the remote drop as he moves forward, she meets Eddie as he leans in to kiss her. 

And _yeah_. 

He tastes like gingersnaps and toothpaste. She flicks her tongue against his lips and then behind his teeth, shivering when he draws his hand down the length of her body to land on her waist. Gwen gives up trying to hold back what it felt like to be 23 and in a New York City leather club for the first time, pulse thumping in time with the music, experiencing raw sexual power for the first time. Grasping his wrists, she twists into him, giggling when their noses knock. But when his body goes rigid, she breaks them apart, and he lets her wriggle out from beneath him. He touches his mouth, which shouldn’t make her cunt thob, but it does, and she closes her eyes, takes a steadying breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. His cheeks are pink. So pink.

“Don’t be,” she says. “It’s totally fine.” His demeanor’s changed. Sitting back, she gives him space. 

Elbows on knees, he runs his hands over his face, saying, “I always do that.” 

Confused, she says, “Do what?”

“Women. Drugs, women. Leap before I think.” 

_Ah_. Addict. Right. 

He looks tired, sad. Trying to make him laugh, she jokes, “What? Were you trying to snort me?” 

That brings the smile back again. She bites her lip. Looks askance at a stain on the linoleum so ingrained that no amount of scrubbing will wash it away. (And Gwen’s tried.) Before she can stop herself, she sucks in another breath, and says, “What if I was the one in control?” 

He goes stiff. “What do you mean?”

“I guess I mean—” God, she forgot how hard this can be to explain to vanilla people. Another reason it was easy to box it up. She hated having to go through it with every new boy or girlfriend. “Look, I’ve been around. Sex can be about control—losing it or holding it. We take drugs to feel out of control and then fuck to get it back, yeah? What if you let me be the one to make decisions, and you come along for the ride?” 

He looks at her like she’s a stranger. Like she’s something closer to a goddess and not another fucked up person in rehab. Curiosity, anxiety swimming in his gaze in equal spades. Slowly, cautiously, he nods. 

“Good,” she says, “do you know what a safeword is? Lets you stop everything at once, no questions asked.”

Eddie nods again, “I, um. Guy on the team was into this sort of stuff. Explained some of it to us.” Adorable, maddening, the way he can’t even bring himself to say _BDSM_. “Can just use red. If that’s alright.” His fingers clench and twist over one another in his lap. 

“Yeah, sure,” she says, smiling. She sits on her knees, laying a palm on the side of his head to bring him to face her. “It’s been a while for me since I’ve done this, so we’re both coming in blind.” Then she kisses him. That is, _she_ kisses _him._ Holds fast to the back of his neck and knocks their teeth together. Digs a thumb into his jugular where his pulse thrums in quick-time. Distantly, she hears _Santa Cruz_ playing in the background. It’s enough to remind her that they probably shouldn’t be doing this in the common room, but not enough to stop. 

He goes pliant beneath her, hands ghosting along her waist and hips for a place to settle. 

“Normally you ask before touching,” she says against his mouth. Instantly Eddie’s hands fly back to his lap, but she brings them back, lets him clutch her close. “I’ll let it slide since you’re new here.” 

The exhale he lets out is deliciously shaky. 

Gwen returns to kissing him breathless while her hands roam along his shoulders, his chest, his throat. Her palm grazes his nipple, hard beneath his shirt, and he twitches. He’s so solid and so _warm_ , still, it makes her dizzy. Dipping her nose to neck, she drags along the length of his jaw like a predator sniffing out an artery. He shudders. 

“Lie back,” she orders, shoving him flat. His head knocks against the armrest, but she doesn’t spare a thought. Instead, she straddles his waist and pins his arms down. She leans in so their lips rest inches apart. His eyes dart around her face as he tries to reach up and kiss her. 

Remaining just out of reach, she says, “You’ve never been told no in your entire goddamn life, have you.” It’s not a question. His eyes are wide, and so very blue. “Pretty boy who gets everything handed to him. Well, not tonight. Gonna have to earn it.”

Eddie moans, low and pained. Pretty, melodic, so unlike what she had expected. Her spine goes liquid at the sound of it. She’s going to have so much fun dragging out more of them. 

Her grip moves to the juncture of his neck and shoulders and digs her thumbs into the hollow of his collarbones. Scooting back, she rocks her hips into his. He bites his lip, the flesh going blood-red and sore, brows knitting. His cock thickens between them. She smirks down at him, and keeps moving in tiny, hitching circles. 

Adjusting to get his legs pinned, Gwen grinds down on him like that for a while, reveling in his breathy sighs, his quivering muscles aching to thrust up, his dick rubbing against her pussy between the layers of clothes. She slips her hands beneath his shirt and pinches his nipples. His back arches into the touch, cheeks flaming red. 

“Anyone ever touch you here before?” she asks, rolling and pulling on them gently, studying the reactions as they flit across his face. Eddie shakes his head. Tension coils up through him—she can feel the power in his thighs aching to move. In the space between his collarbones, she sucks a bruise there, leaving it mottled and purpling. If they had the time, the space, she’d leave constellations of them all over his chest, shoulders, back, throat. Maybe dress him up in rope so that it rubs against them. 

Leaving his shirt rucked up exposing the plane of his belly, Gwen moves down between his legs, one dangling on the floor. A damp spot on the dark fabric of his track pants turns her stomach to water. 

“All this from some grinding? What, do you usually just slide it right in?” she says just to make him squirm. Which he does, beautifully, shaking his head furiously. She fits her mouth to the wetness and suckles the head of his cock. Eddie’s hips kick forward of their own volition as his dick pulses under her mouth. She snakes her hands to his hip bones, that v cut into his pelvis, and rubs her face against his dick. Tucking fingers into the waistband, she draws his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs—just enough space for her to fit into the cradle of them if Eddie bends his knees. She tosses them over her shoulders. His cock, flushed and dripping, lays against his heaving abdomen. Wet, shining streaks of pre-come smeared in the hair there. 

Wrapping one hand around the base of his cock, she suckles the head. Draws back his foreskin and digs her tongue into the slit. Gwen knew people who didn’t like sucking dick, but she never understood: there’s no other feeling quite like having a man at the mercy of your mouth. 

“Ah, God,” he groans. 

Dragging the flat of her tongue along his length, she looks up at him and then, deliberately, swallows down what she can. He arches up, struggling to make sure he doesn’t fuck her face. At least he’s polite about it. 

“Fuck,” he says. It’s high and thin, the sound of it sending a jolt through her. He looks down at her, sweat making his bangs stick damply to his forehead, already ruined, wrecked, needy. A little more docile than usual. How did that Fiona Apple song go? _I’ve been a bad, bad girl, I’ve been careless with a delicate man_.

She hums along, enjoying the squirm he makes at the sensation. She laves her tongue along his cock and massages the base, twisting her wrist. Bobs her head lazily, at her own pace. Letting her jaw slacken, she slip slides in the mix of spit and pre-come, taking him deep, falling into a rhythm. 

“Can I,” he pants, honey-thick, “can I touch you?” 

She pops off, with an obscene noise. “Yeah, go on.” She strokes his cock while he weaves fingers in her hair, squeezes and teases. “Good boy, you’re learning.” 

Eddie noticeably shivers, a fact that she tucks away for later and sucks him down again. She smears her hand along his stomach to hold him down, scratches in the hair there. He gently pulls and pets her hair, thighs twitching around her head, and swearing under his breath whenever she finds a sensitive spot and then exploits it with expert precision. She could keep him like this for hours, right at the edge, ankles in the air. The cologne he wears, probably some absurdly expensive shit that smells like sandalwood and something sweet underneath, mixes with the musk of sex and clean soap right in her nose, and Gwen buries her face in the crease where his thigh meets hip and inhales it deep. 

It’s then that she remembers something a past partner enjoyed, something even Jasper would let her do if they were both sufficiently wine drunk. In a quick motion, Gwen pushes his legs back to his chest and off her shoulders. Eddie makes a curious noise that she swiftly quells by giving his ass a sharp little smack. 

“Turn over for me, Eddie. Good,” she says. He does as bid, revealing just how red the tips of his ears are. God, this is a pretty angle. He’s pretty _everywhere_ , but she’s stunned by the athletic grace in limbs and stature, the firm build of his waist. A fine tremble runs through his thighs, pale and secretly freckled, she notes. A constellation of stars sprayed on soft skin, lightly dusted with hair. Grabbing his hips, Gwen sinks her fingers into the slight roundness of his belly and lays quick kisses and nips to the inside of his thighs. Eddie’s hastily lowered track pants keep him tethered, unable to splay out wide, but enough for Gwen to suck a hickey that’ll last for days.

She rubs his spine, nosing the space behind his balls and parting his cheeks to reveal his hole, pink and fluttering under her attention. 

“How are you gorgeous everywhere, you ass. It’s unfair,” Gwen says, giving his ass another little slap before kissing the top of his cleft, right between the dimples of his back.

Eddie jolts, letting out a panicked bleat, “Gwen— _what_? What are you doing? That’s, that’s— don’t.” 

“Don’t get prudish on me, man,” she says, dragging a finger down to his hole. Doesn’t push, just rests it and rubs tiny circles to get him used to the feeling of something there. Of course she’d stop if he asked, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to stop. He sounds more overwhelmed and intrigued than anything. She remembers the first time someone did this to her—the squiggling feeling in her belly of _dirtybadwronghot_ and knows he’s experiencing the same thing. Giving him a kitten lick, she continues, “Do you want me to stop?”

“ _No_ ,” he says, bordering on a sob. His knuckles have gone white with the way he’s holding onto the sofa cushion for dear life.

“Then don’t worry,” she murmurs into his lower back, massaging his perineum, “just let me do this.” The moan he lets out sounds like it’s been pushed out of him. Gwen rewards him with a long, languid lick from his balls to his hole with a flick at the end. 

Eddie _melts_ beneath her, pliant and limp, as he sinks to his forearms with his ass in the air. Gooseflesh races along his skin beneath her grip. She huffs a quiet, triumphant laugh into his ass, leaving wet, sucking kisses in her wake. Works up a mouthful of spit to get him sloppy-wet, dripping. 

He squirms in her arms, whimpering, “Oh, God. Gwen, _fuck_.”

“Mhm,” she agrees, tracing circles around his rim, not yet sliding inside. His head thrashes side to side. Starts rocking back onto her face. Gwen can see his cock through the sliver of space between his legs, flushed beautiful and dribbling slick. Reaching around, she twists her wrist around his dick, plays with the head to gather a gossamer thread of pre-come. She keeps licking luxuriously, slowly, taking him apart on her time. Playful paisley shapes interspersed with firm sucking kisses.

Gwen curls her tongue to sweetly stab at his hole—pry him, ease him open. Eddie gasps, knuckles going white where they’re curled into fists. She breathes pleasure into him in increments, working him over as slow as she can manage. In the cradle of her hips, her cunt throbs, and she moans against him. 

When she feels Eddie relax, hands unclenching, she says, “Good. Good boy.” He makes a quiet, pleading noise deep in the back of his throat, cock jumping. Spreading him wider, she blows a puff of cool air on the wetness before getting her whole face in and swirls her tongue in firm circles. He arches, caught between the urge to move into the pleasure and cover himself. Finally, he lets her inside him, and she rewards him with lingering swirls. Her spine goes liquid molten as Eddie writhes, crawling out of his skin. 

Gwen goes a little slower, a little softer just as he’s getting used to her being inside. She returns to teasing the rim, soothing his hole with gentle strokes, but dipping back in when he’s not expecting it. Eddie starts pleading incoherently, reedy and needy: “Fuck, oh _fuck_ ” and “don’t stop” and “didn’t know it could feel like this.” His body slackens, cock leaking steady dribbles of pre-come. She holds his waist to keep him upright, help lift him closer. And what she would _give_ to be sliding a cock into him, breasts pressed to his heaving back, fucking him senseless on her strap-on. Directing that energy back to the task at, ahem, hand, Gwen eases both her tongue and a single finger inside him, parting him wider. 

Eddie whimpers, clamps down on it, in mortified desire. Her other hand finds his prick again, fat and thick, heavy in her palm, giving it a squeeze. The combined extra fullness and pressure on his dick seems to be Eddie’s undoing. Gwen hears it in stages—the sniffling, hitching breath, cracking voice. 

“Yeah,” she says against his ass, “yeah, Eddie, let me have it. Give it to me, baby.” 

He hiccoughs, the noise getting stuck in his throat. Abruptly, she pulls away just long enough to flip him on his back and see those tears streaking down his temples. She throws his knees over her shoulders once more, and returns her finger and tongue to him. From this angle, it’s easier to crook it upwards and find his prostate. His thighs tense rhythmically by her ears while he loses control bit by bit. Hips jerking mindlessly, hands pulling on her hair, spine arching clear off the cushions. 

“Come for me, baby. I’ve got you,” she soothes right as she rubs against that sweet spot inside that she knows no one’s ever touched before. And Eddie does, spilling burning hot across his belly while she slips her finger out and eats him out through it. Unspeakably sweet, he comes, with pretty little tremors and sobs. She wrings his cock until he’s utterly spent, writhing with that bit of over-stimulation, weakly pushing her away. 

She lets a purr warm her throat as she says, “Any good?”

Eddie looks fucking beside himself at the question, blinking through the tears on his lashes. Gwen’s cunt throbs at the sight. She laughs while tugging her pants off one leg. It’s tricky to get situated, but she positions herself above his mouth with a wicked smirk and says, “Gonna ride your face. Just tap my thigh twice if you need me to get up, alright?” 

He barely finishes nodding before Gwen lowers down on his mouth, rolls her pelvis forward in a languid circle, so her clit brushes his nose. Eddie lets out a rumbling moan that races through her cunt to her thighs to her stomach to the tips of her toes. He licks up her cunt, twirling around her clit. Adds a twist of a suck at the end. Heat washes over her, coiling at the base of spine. His end of day scruff scratches pleasantly along her inner thighs, on her pussy. He uses wet, quick strokes of tongue, teases around her clit. And it’s so easy for him—she’s already dripping from taking him apart, and the reality of using him for her own pleasure like this only heightens the power coursing through her. Her breath breaks in scattered gasps and muttered praise while her cheeks flush with exertion.

Despite the burning in her thighs, she continues riding his face like she would ride his dick or make him ride hers. A little tug on his hair makes Eddie moan again, so she does harder to draw more desperate noises that commingle with the slick sounds of him eating her out. He uses the tip of his tongue to draw aimless patterns on her, noses her, breathes deep her scent. He reaches up and clutches at her thighs for dear life, bits of fat and muscle where they splay and squeeze. 

“Made for this,” she breathes, snaking underneath her shirt to toy with her nipples, “made to eat pussy. With a face like that.” 

Eddie huffs a startled whine, sucking harder on her clit. The extra bit of sensations sends Gwen over the edge, and she comes and comes and _comes_ , shuddering and jerking while he licks her through it. Startled, she lets out a small gush of liquid that soaks Eddie’s face, neck, chest. God, she hasn’t done _that_ in years. 

“Sorry,” she says, “sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

But Eddie keeps _going_ , lapping at her cunt, as if he could swallow all of her down. Get drunk off her slick and high off her scent. She has to forcibly wrench his head away and slide down his body to catch her breath. Eddie, meanwhile, lays there: soft dick against his hip bone, wet and red-faced, hair mussed. Gwen would keep him like this forever if she could. After righting her pants, she wipes up the come on his belly and cleans off his face. There’s no hope for the top of his shirt, soaked as it is. She pulls his track pants back in place, patting his cock softly. Eddie mutters _thanks,_ fidgeting under her touch. 

Her first thought is to keep him above water. She’s been in relationships with people who needed extra care after something like this, or it’d put them in a bad headspace. She moves him ever so slightly and coils up behind him, her chest to his back. He sighs, and she kneads the spur of bone at the base of his neck. He grasps her forearm, gazing off at the length of their legs. Gwen flips on the TV again; they’ve missed _Santa Cruz_ , but _Jeopardy’s_ on, and Alex Trebek is reading out the categories. 

Recovery is a strange road. She doesn’t even like to think that she’s in recovery, that there’s something misshapen inside her that requires fixing. She’s a whole person. But sharing this with Eddie, shows her that recovery can mean more about finding stable ground rather than constantly getting swept up in the inertia of life. 

Eddie says, “Thanks, Gwen.” He says it almost so quietly she misses it. He squeezes her arm.

“Thank you,” she replies. In between counting the rise and fall of their chests, they take turns shouting out varyingly wrong answers to the questions, and Gwen understands what it means to maybe want a home. 


End file.
